Listen Or Read!
Chapter 1: What’s The Point?
My father died of a heart attack at the age of 47 while having sex with my mother.
I’ve wondered for a very long time, what makes a book worth reading. I asked my wife, my friends. People from work. No one had a great answer. I guess asking that kind of question is like asking someone what their favorite book is, favorite song, movie. It’s an impossible task. It takes too much brain power or effort to engage in such a thought process. (Or people just don’t like talking to me).
My father said something to me shortly before he died. It was kind of… a compliment. He didn’t hand those out often. I don’t think, at the time, I knew it was one.
“You have the gift of gab.” he said.
While I know that doesn’t knock our socks off- Now, over six years after he died, I can tell you with certainty that it is one of the best compliments I have ever received. As a writer. As an unsuccessful comedian. As a person.
You see, he didn’t talk much. Stoic. Police officer. Hard. Strong.
He said that for a reason. Something I must have said, out loud, caused him to think to himself,
“Hm, I agree with what he said. Hm, that makes sense. Hm… nice.”
For most of my adult life I have tried to make a living from writing. I have failed at it, mostly. I don’t support my family with it. Never have. For most of my life I have done what my father did. Serve the government, the community. Put my ass in danger for the greater good. My wife and I can both attest to all with absolute certainty, it is not very… “fun”.
I’d prefer to just sell a bajillion books worth reading. (So tell your friends).
In honor of my dead father, grandfather, and I guess everyone else in the world, I decided to write this book. A book finally worth reading. I don’t care what kind of person you are. A wannabe writer. Wantrepreneur. Checkout cashier at the local grocery store. Student trying to figure out what to do with their life. High level executive who is sure they suck at leadership. Soldier bored out of his mind sitting in a desert somewhere. This book is for you. All of you.
Whew, now that we got all those terrible introductions out of the way, let’s agree on something. Literally anything. I thought about this topic for at least six to nine years before actually putting this on a piece of paper.
What makes a book worth reading?
Well,
1: Short enough to read in 1 day. Does not waste my time.
2: Contains unfiltered “Truth”
3: Has Stories over Theory.
4: Actual Actions to take, to fix stuff.
5: Real Knowledge from a Real Person who Knows, …Something. Literally anything.
6: Challenge my Beliefs. Make my brain think. I don’t want to agree with everything.
7: Trigger Emotions. Even Bad Ones.
8: Provide a practical solution to my problems.
9: Inspire my butt.
10: Help my soul be less sad.
Now, that is a seriously tall order. Right? In what world have you purchased and read a book that truly delivered? IN WHAT WORLD have you WRITTEN a book that truly delivered?
We haven’t. We lazy.
Instead of asking people this terrible question, “what makes a book worth reading”, I started going around like a madman asking people if they had ever recommended a book to someone they knew.
I asked over a hundred people. Guess how many books they, on average, had ever recommended in their entire lives.
… ONE.
ONE BOOK! (Did not include respondents who said “the Bible”, but it would not have much changed the query results- I promise)
Most people, most human, disgusting, beings, have only told one person they care about to read ONE book, ever.
Which means, MOST people, have only ever read ONE BOOK, in their lifetime, that was worth recommending to another person.
That isn’t great.
In addition to that, most of the people I talked to, recommended a fiction book. Not surprising. (We’ll talk later about how there is no such thing as non-fiction).
Even worse than all of this, after said individual gave their one, singular recommendation, only about twenty-five percent of the people actually read the thing. We are talking family members. Wives, Husbands, Children. Our significant other recommends the ONE thing they think is useful for us to read, and we don’t even try it.
Why is that?
I’ve done a lot of cool stuff in my life. I’ve flown faster than the speed of sound. I’ve hit someone in the face in a boxing ring. (And gotten hit). I’ve surfed in Hawaii. I’ve married an amazing person.
But I haven’t sold a million books worth reading.
I know, I suck! Right? Huge Loser.
All that being said. I think it’s probably for some stupid reason that I probably don’t understand yet.
I am not a nihilist.
I don’t believe that we all are just walking around this world taking up space. I think every person has a unique role to fill and has the opportunity to do something that significantly affects other humans for the better. If they get off their butt and do it.
My biggest complaint about life, people, and the world, is that no one seems to feel that other people are the answer to all of their questions.
Teaching other people to care about other people is very, very, freakin hard.
Meaning isn’t handed to us—it’s something we create. The fact that there’s no predefined script for life isn’t a reason to give up; it’s an invitation to write our own story.
We find meaning in relationships, in work that excites us, in small daily joys, and in the pursuit of things that challenge us. If nothing matters by default, that just means we get to decide what matters to us.
If you think that nothing matters, that you are an ant in an otherwise vast and unassuming universe, and that everything you do is simply wasted time, we might have a fundamental value system disagreement.
A lot of people (jabronees) take the stance that since nothing matters, there’s no point in trying. This way of thinking leads people to despair. If everything is fleeting, then every small, beautiful moment matters even more. A great meal, a deep conversation, a perfectly timed joke—those things are tiny rebellions against the void.
Even if we try to not care, life has a way of pulling us back. I can tell you this because I know it is true. I’ve tried to live a life of nothing-ness.
Guess what.
Life has a way of hitting us in the face.
If you’ve ever had someone show up for you when you needed them, you know that moments of meaning are real. They aren’t cosmic truths, but they are deeply human ones.
The last words my father spoke to me before he died were on a voicemail he left for me. He called me on my birthday, and left a message. It was a normal thing. Just checking in, just wishing us a happy birthday. Two weeks later he was gone.
This stupid book wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t listened to that voicemail.
Most people don’t care about other people.
What most people do care about. Is their next meal. Their child’s next meal. Money. The people they have to deal with when they get home. How they are going to sell a million books and move to Hawaii. (Okay maybe that’s just me). How they will find love. How Elvis Presley really died.
It’s all a damn mystery. So here we go.
This is an Excerpt from My Book Notes On Success,
You can purchase it here if you’d like to support us!